The Planar Vagabond
The Vagabond is a whimsical sort of outlier from times past. His is a world of magical alacrity and a deep passion for delving into the farthest reaches of arcane potential. A time-tried sorcerer that has traded good sense and sound mind for an unprecedented affinity for the mystical arts. Sailing with the wind of the universe in his sails, he'd treaded places few thought possible and revels in making the ''im''possible possible through creative application of his craft. =Description= ---- Driftingwood; a wiry man of middle-age clad in dust-caked threadbare clothes that might've been finery at one point or another. Eclectic in nature, his outward visage is a reflection of his chaotic persona. Once-reddish hair is dulled by interweaving gray and slicked back from his eyes. Sunken dull-green eyes under a pair of fuzzy brows. He looks strung-out, and an overt wanton abuse of magic is to blame. Despite this, his demeanor is one akin to a person on the edge of delivering a punchline. He's wry, chipper, and sarcastic to a fault. Any moment of sincerity or seriousness he shows is fleeting at best, and dis-genuine at worst. =History= ---- Simple Beginnings Most exceptional people on Azeroth are born into exceptional situations. Maybe of the world's greatest leaders and champions were special-cases in their fields, or relatives of those important enough to make themselves known. This wasn't the case for Aventus. No, his was a simple start; a young son of a farmer couple in the breadbasket of Llane Wrynn's kingdom. Sadly, before he could begin to fulfill his life's role in tilling wheat, milking cows, and marrying some plain your girl to pop out another generation of thankless hill-laborers, disaster struck. It came in the form of three unruly gentlemen that the senior Ardenaro owed money to. Money he didn't have. That night, the farmstead burned. It blazed bright against the cloudless moonlit sky. By the time local law had caught sight and rode for the rescue, the only soul left was a shivering Aventus, having fled from a downstairs window in a panic and scurried off into the hills nearby. When the law came running, so did Aventus. The Kingdom had just begun recovery from a grueling war, and reconstruction in Stormwind was in full swing. Many children were orphaned in these hard times, and the young Ardenaro was duly thrown in with the rest. It's under this environment that he grew, enduring troubled times surrounded by deposed children and overstressed matrons. Oakenshield Company In the days of adolescence, Aventus met a fellow orphan by the name of Brille Slatehammer. The year-older boy was a son of paladins, a good soul, although a penchant for poor decisions. These two quickly became the best of friends. On the eve of Aventus' eighteenth birthday, they left for greener pastures. Using Brille's inheritance, they founded a company of jolly adventurers under the name of Oakenshield. Theirs was a prosperous stretch of whim and wonder for a good number of years. Sadly, as time crept on, so too did the habitual path to self-destruction that ensnared the son of Slatehammer. As his demeanor grew sour, and he took more and more to drink, Brille began to drive members away. Whence the Third War began, the few left- Aventus excluded- went to be with their families, or find work in the Alliance military. One night, in drunken stupor, Slatehammer set their encampment ablaze; another chapter of Ardenaro's life punctuated by flame. Academics and Starfall The deposed Aventus parted ways with his long-time friend and returned to Stormwind. Though there was much building left to be done, it was at least livable. It was in his time home again that he reconnected with others from the orphanage. One such was a young woman by the name of Riley Norstwell, who had recently took apprenticeship amongst the city's fledgling magical community. They struck up a relationship in the throes of budding adulthood. Though it had only lasted for just under a year, their time together had convinced Aventus to study magic himself. Subsequently, he came to love it. He'd found a passion that he'd lacked in the aimless first few years of his life. For a short few years, he was content in his studies. His learning went along well enough to acquaint him to the intricacies of magical theory, and he became an adept caster in short time. It wasn't to be, however. The longer he sat and learned, the more passive his life became, the more the desire for adventure crept into the back of his mind. Why learn all this to do nothing with it? Still young, and still dumb, he left the academy without reaching any sort of pedigree. He hadn't even begun to specialize in any singular school of magic, much to his instructors' chagrin. Inexperienced, but confident in his abilities to fling fireballs and blast bolts, he set out to find a new company. He did so in the Starfeller Concord, a mercenary band led by a particularly eccentric- borderline sociopathic, not that he realized it at the time- elf and his colleagues. Another of the elves among them was an aged High Elf by the name of Ophineus Ashbrand. This wizard, seeing how little Aventus truly knew, continued his education independent of both the Stormwind Academy and the Kirin Tor. Dually specializing in conjuration and abjuration, Aventus' skill began to take proper form as his friendships and his experiences blossomed. Many a wild adventure was had, and in time Aventus became the Concord's proprietor following the original owner's departure. Wishing Well It was during his time with the Concord that he first met The Planar Vagabond- the first one. Olomorn Dirftingwood. An eccentric mage that seemed to come and go without reason, but always with some interesting insight to blurt or a particular magical boon to give to someone that rightfully didn't deserve it. He knew not how important a role this seemingly deranged wizard would play in the years to come. What he did know what that the former owner of the Starfellers was beginning to be a problem. Since his departure he'd grown increasingly more violent and emotionally stunted. Culminating in the injury of one of the Concord's members, Aventus moved to take action- but he was outmatched. The elf, a rarity among his kind in that his was the path of a prolific runemaster, hastily dispatched Aventus and drove a knife through his throat. He killed him outright, then disappeared. Truth be told, the elf was never caught. Months passed, friends mourned, and the Concord crumbled as everyone went their separate ways. Then, Aventus opened his eyes. He died, though. Was he undead? No, he was warm. His throat was healed. His skin was full and healthy and dirt-free. Someone, through means indiscernible to him, had procured a casting of Wish. A great and immense magical feat that few have ever been within reach of receiving, let alone bringing to fruition. Wishes were grandiose manipulations of the here-and-now, reshaping reality into a desired state. Aventus was wished back to life- full life- and laid atop his grave. He stayed there for a long while, stricken with disbelief, though soon found himself to his feet and off to a new walk of life. The Planar Vagabond Though he'd rekindled a few of his old friendships, and made new ones, Aventus lead a quieter life. He'd resigned to running a small lakehouse-lodge in which visitors would come to rest their weary feet and try for a spot of fishing. Shortly into his relatively peaceful life, however, Olomorn returned. Again in passing, at first, though with increasing frequency as time went on. One day, Olomorn popped into existence. Not on purpose. At that moment he was fighting a stray thought. He’d been cursed. Any effort of will was turned into a protoplasmic mass of malignant energy, an undulant shape reminiscent of a man coming right out of his forehead. The best part was Olly had no idea where he was. He just screamed, the horrific amalgamation beating at his temples. He wasn't truly scared- moreso, it was the kind of scream one would do when they're chased by bees. Aventus and the lodge-goers stared on, watching the monster boiling from his forehead flail about like a spastic donkey. Ardenaro grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen nearby in a panic and thwacked him over the head. The monster splashes apart like water, Olomorn and Aventus are blown opposite sides of the tavern in a flash of preternatural energy. The Vagabond fell unconscious. Aventus was pretty sure he’d broken his arm. The next morning, Olomorn was awake. Not the type to ask where he is, he’s already up and dressed when Aventus moves to check on him. The befuddled Ardenaro's arm sports a sling but the Vagabond looks like he just struck gold. He asks if Aventus would like to step out for a bit. The House of Doors following section is written from Aventus' perspective. It's written this way because it's how it's written through Olomorns personal Google Doc on his character. So, even though this is for all intents and purposes Aventus' train of thought, he is being guest-written in this instance. Enjoy the change of pace. I said yes. Consent is the key to translocation. I said yes, I blinked, the sun blinked too. Now I was looking at a purple sky, streamlined with sickly green and pitch black gales. The sheer terror of the Nether was filtered through the dull blue light of a magical ward surrounding a house floating on a rock. Olly walked off without me. Through a front yard, a patio, finally entering the house. I followed after a couple seconds. I wanted to say something. I didn't have the time though, I was already inside and Olomorn was talking. Oh man he was giddy. Olly prattles like a hen in heat, that's how I could tell. We were in the house of doors, which explained all the doors. Every wall, even some of the furniture, had a door on it. He noted that that was less important. Then he got a little more somber. We moved over to a smoking area he'd set up. We shared a hookah, I had no idea what I was smoking but I felt crisp. Ingenious I guess. It felt a lot like I could understand everything, maybe. The problem was I couldn't and Olomorn could. I missed the first part of his speech. Or diatribe. Said something about a gift he’d gotten. Wandering the great dark, keeping the legion in check. I'm sure I would've loved to hear about it. About a minute beforehand I noticed a small monkey smoking with us. I couldn't keep my eyes off it. It was wearing a fez and it'd caught my attention. Olly stopped himself midword. He’d clued on to the glances I was throwing between him and the monkey. “That’s junior, his family lives here. In the basement.” he said flatly before regaining my attention. He continued. “I’ve got some plans Aventus. Tiny things right now, but they’re seeds nonetheless. What I reckon I need here is some mediation between me and the mundane world, right? There’s some big change coming to Azeroth and I’d like to help point it the right way. But I think I’m going to need some help. You’re just stupid enough to think this is a good idea so I’m coming to you. I need your connections, and I need your inane luck.” I mumbled a bit. Obviously I was a little out of it at this point. And by that I mean I’d passed out. Last I heard was Olly berating himself for being to fast, a large part of me agreed. How was I supposed to make heads or tail this? He flitted me back to the lakehouse. I woke up about an hour or two later, he’d laid me out on the countertop in the kitchen and he was fumbling about in the pantry. “A long time ago I met this deity I guess. Really a demon well worshipped. Food was his thing. He was on the run from the Legion. You know not all demons shacked up with brimstone-face. The man just liked to make food, more than that he liked to hoard food. The demon could make every dish known in the Great Dark. The demons were after his hoard.” Olomorn walked into my cupboard. I sat up understandably surprised, the cupboard was only as broad as I was wide. He kept talking from a distance. “So was I, but for better reasons. I’d heard there’s a Nathrezim dish that gave you two extra arms and a scorpion tail when you ate it. So I had an Idea.” I hopped off the bar and followed after Olomorn. In place of the insides of my pantry was a warehouse. Shelves as far as the eye could stacked with dishes sat on silver serving platters and glass covers. “If I knew one thing at that time it's that the Legion loved weapons. With food on my mind I was reminded of a dimension I’d stumbled upon in my studies. It was a stomach the size of a small castle, only accessible through a spell pioneered by a sorcerer known as Czar Putricidias.” Olomorn walked along the shelves casually. I stumbled after him. “He was from Azeroth actually. Killed by the blue dragons during the Nexus Wars. I got the spell from a wandering wyrm. Long story short I got the Legion off the chef’s back trading them that spell. Czar called it the King’s Mouth. On account that you had to manually swallow whatever you wanted to send to the stomach. On smaller humanoid creatures like you and me Aventus, it transformed the upper half of your body into a huge fanged maw.” I was a few steps behind him at this point. He wasn’t really doing anything besides talking. But suddenly he turned on his heel and grabbed me by the shoulders. His stare was blank, he was thinking about something else I’m sure. The Planar Pissant BE WRITTEN Beliefs The Vagabond subscribes to no singular creed. Rather, his is the belief that all creeds and all walks of life hold equal footing in the grand scheme of the universe. He's just as likely to find good company among demons as he is priests. Free will and freedom of choice are his passions, and he reflects this in his pursuit of all avenues of magic. Category:Characters Category:Stormwindian